


Obverse

by peoriapeoria



Series: The Private Casebook of J.H.W. [6]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 19:59:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peoriapeoria/pseuds/peoriapeoria





	Obverse

I awoke with Holmes encompassing me, hard against my buttock, one leg between mine. I cannot express the contentment deep and complete I feel in Holmes' sleeping embrace, precious in its rarity. I looked to the window to judge how long I had before I must return to my room.

It was still in those small hours either late or early, truly neither. Hours. I sank into the luxury of Holmes somnolent. The weight of his head half-balanced on mine, half-hanging over my shoulder, the heat of his chest pressed along my back, his thigh wedged tight against my crux.

"Breach me." I feared both him hearing me and not. I had come to accept Holmes' receptive proclivities without understanding them. Slick pressure at my exit derailed my thoughts.

Slowly I recognized it as a fingertip. It occurred to me that Holmes must have prepared himself in such a manner. I thought about finding myself in him; about him planning his violation. He circled me, stroked my crease. I was anxious, thankful his other arm was still wrapped around my chest, pinning my arms.

Holmes shifted his weight, his hips covering mine, filling my cleft. Though we had largely left off intercrural when I had realized the futility of denying Holmes anything he would have of me, I had not forgot those habits. It was too high for Holmes to pump between my legs. A blunt pressure formed, delving and burning.

The sting passed more quickly than I realized that Holmes filled me. He made only the most shallow strokes, not an unpleasant sensation, truth be told. Holmes changed his angle by degrees as if seeking something close by. Oh, how he found it! Pleasure spread through me as he directed his energies on that point.

Buoyed upon waves and waves of the most exquisite sensations, I was little aware of more than Holmes, and could barely distinguish his attentive works. Only once my passion had broke and I lay there spent, did my concentration return. His one arm still cinched mine as he mewled bits of nonsense at my ear and along my jaw, his other hand underneath me. I protested at his withdrawal, my hand clasping tight to his thigh. He pulled his head back to rest against my nape and extricated his arm from under my chest.

I could think of nothing to say, and I was torn between gratitude and a powerful desire to flee. His hand covered mine, and he rose up on his other arm, pushing my hips down with his.

"Watson." His voice was possessed of an odd hoarseness and quavered. The brand of his mouth rested at the very base of my neck. I tried to find some words, but they, like Holmes, slipped from me.

"Sherlock." I turned my head, gripping back at the hand that held my own. I drifted to sleep as his fingers traced the side of my face.


End file.
